


In vino veritas

by The_Damnedest_Creature



Category: Jrock, the GazettE
Genre: Angst, M/M, The angstest angst that ever angsted, Unrequited
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-19
Updated: 2017-02-19
Packaged: 2018-09-25 16:35:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9829886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Damnedest_Creature/pseuds/The_Damnedest_Creature
Summary: It's just been too much, too much wine and too much everything.Aoi is drunk and desperate and weak.





	

**Author's Note:**

> The entire reason for this fanfic coming into being is this particular fanvideo (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kMsJ0s2QTio) - the song is Young and Beautiful by Lana Del Rey. I advise you to listen to the song while reading, or watch the fanvid first. 
> 
> I honestly thought it would turn out much less angsty. Since they'd so deserve to be so happily in love and I wanted to write about a happy couple that will love each other forever, but.....  
> ....then I started writing and as it happens, each time I try and write Aoiha, it's literally nothing but AAAAAANGSTTTT.  
> And thus here we are.  
> Aoi's endless pining.  
> As it is apparent from the video. 
> 
> I betaread it on the train, but quality can not be guaranteed. Read at your own risk, and maybe leave me a comment, they keep me motivated. ...Seeing from how frequently I post ... I'm the opposite of motivated, generally. 
> 
> Might later be edited slightly, and then perhaps also not.  
> Enjoy, mn.

It’s been too much wine.  
His hands are on Uruha’s upper arms, fingers dug desperately into the toned biceps. His hair is obscuring his face, his hazy gaze hidden beyond it. No one would know what on earth he’s looking at, beyond this world. He clings to Uruha as if he were an anchor to reality.

Uruha’s nowhere near piss drunk, nowhere. Perhaps tipsy, very numb. The world seems pleasantly dull and a little bit far away, without sharp edges. His skin tingles upon touch.  
Aoi’s touch should have hurt, but he hardly feels it.  
He’d eventually frown and hiss out a breath, bringing his pretty hands up upon Aoi’s to try and get his grip to loosen.  
“Hurts,” he’d utter, frowning only so little that it was hardly visible at all.  
“You alright…?”  
….Aoi wasn’t.  
How could he be.  
Uruha’s question elicited a choked little laugh from him.  
When the older guitarist looked up, his eyes like two black jewels under the veil of his black hair, his gaze was a little bit manic. There was despair in it and the flash of it was almost scary for a second.  
Then it dissipated into nothing but great, hopeless grief.  
Uruha knew the gaze, he’d seen it.  
His hands kept to Aoi’s hands for a while, he simply held them. Then he pushed his fingers under Aoi’s to loosen his grip and try to pry his hands off. It was firm but gentle. Defeated, Aoi let him do it.  
Once detached, Aoi’s hands shook in Uruha’s fingers.  
“..Aoi.”  
Nothing came. Aoi’s eyes would close and his head would hang and he would remain motionless, just like that.  
And Uruha would sigh and squeeze his shaking hands.  
“I’m sorry.”

In a way, he truly was sorry, so much. Because at once he knew what Aoi was on about, what this had always been about - was and would be over and over again.  
He let one of his hands slide into the hold of Aoi’s, not just to hold _at_ his hand now, but to actually hold hands with him. He squeezed it very lightly. The other hand asserted a gentle, friendly hold at Aoi’s shoulder.  
He might have as well stabbed him in the heart.

“Uru….”  
Aoi’s tone was desperate and pleading.  
It tugged at strings of Uruha’s heart that he didn’t even know he had, yet still, he could feel the melody played on them, in painful little tugs.  
“….Uru,…”  
It was hardly more than a whisper.  
“…Don’t…,” Uruha whispered back, his tone almost equally pained, equally regretful, he was even surprised by it. “Aoi, don’t.”  
“Why can’t you…. Uru. Uru, you know I… I…”  
“Don’t. Please. Don’t say it. Don’t tell me. Don’t.”  
Their silence was heavy and it was full of shaking breaths, mostly Aoi’s. He slumped forward and fell against Uruha’s chest, leaning his forehead against it where his heart was, and surprisingly, Uruha allowed it.

“I love you.”  
He did tell, in the end.

The silence that followed was neither one of surprise nor contempt nor anything; it was full of quiet sorrow, really. It was regretful. Uruha’s words were arrows he was reluctant to shoot, with three words he’d been given power to kill that he didn’t want to use, yet it was inevitable he’d have to use it, quite soon. He tried to prolong the wait and push the moment away.  
Both knew where it would lead once he spoke, but as long as he didn’t … then the candle flame of hope was still allowed to live.

“Aoi,” he whispered so softly that it was almost soundless, carried on his breath.  
“I can’t.”  
He longed to embrace him, to somehow ease and dissipate his grief, as it tore at his own heart just as much, but he couldn’t bring his arms to come up to hug him – they hung there motionless.  
One of his hands was still holding Aoi’s; he was suddenly painfully aware of it. He could feel Aoi’s breath against his chest. He was all so warm and suddenly all so painfully close.

“I’m sorry,” he practically whispered into Aoi’s hair.  
He knew how trashed Aoi was. Not enough to pass out but enough to have ditched boundaries.  
He knew better than to dismiss everything, even though he knew there’s come a time when Aoi would come to beat peace with himself again, blame everything solely on alcohol to contract a lie for himself just as much as others and try to forget everything and yet get over nothing at all,…  
He knew better than to dismiss everything as drunken lunacy.  
Alcohol opens floodgates, after all. That is all that it does. It amplifies that which is already there; it cannot construct concepts out of nothing, can it now.

“I’m sorry,” he brought his arms up at last. He practically wrapped them around Aoi’s head, curling around him protectively.  
“I do love you. I do. I just…”  
…Aoi left out a sound, a weak-voiced little wail.  
He seemed so fragile and pathetic that way. Hopeless and helpless.  
Uruha’s words were daggers. Uruha hated that.

So he just held him.  
And then suddenly, there was a faceful of Aoi, he’d practically flung himself at him, pushed him back.  
It was lips upon lips and for a moment, completely froze Uruha up in place.  
The moment dragged on.  
He let him do it, he didn’t fight him or push him off or freak out, he did nothing, nothing at all. He was painfully aware of how hot Aoi’s lips were and that they were a little chapped and that his breath tickled and that he was close close close way too close in his utmost personal space,…  
….and then he turned his head just enough to break the kiss.  
He did it delicately, trying to be gentle.  
Their cheeks touched. Aoi’s hair tickled at his face.  
He didn’t push him away.  
He brought a hand up into his hair to gently scratch in it, to cradle the back of Aoi’s head.  
“I can’t, I’m… Aoi. I can’t…”

He’d have wanted to. It would have all just been so much easier.  
“I do love you, buddy,” he whispered, and the word sounded like mockery in his own head.  
“It’s just…”  
“…different.”  
“You do know.”  
They both knew. One about the other.

“Can’t you just… Uru, can’t you just… can’t you try-“  
….Uruha could almost feel Aoi’s defeated spirit sink when he sighed against his hair.  
“I have. I would have. I’m… You know I’m not that way.”

In a way, at that present moment, all that Uruha wanted to do was pull away. And then in a way he could not bring himself to push Aoi out of his arms and untangle from his hold at all, weak as his hold was. Aoi lay slumped against him like a shapeless bag, somehow stiff and completely pliant at the same time, completely silent aside from his wheezy breaths. They bordered on sobs, shaky and desperate, but he did not cry, he would not.  
So Uruha held him, silently rubbing his back.

…Yet when Aoi finally pulled away, he let him slide from his grasp.  
When he got up and collected his scattered belongings, Uruha let him.  
When he walked over into his bedroom and closed the door and locked it, Uruha let him. He’d be safe, he’d live, he wasn’t worried about that, just,… needed to be alone. He let him.  
He heard him throw himself upon the bed. He let him.

He did not get up.

He sighed and slumped forward and rested his elbows on his knees and held his head in his hands.


End file.
